Phantoms
by NothingImpossible
Summary: For centuries, Killian has suffered from phantom pains when he lost his hand and the woman he loved. He was certain there was only one way to heal the ache that wouldn't seem to leave him alone.


**A/N:** Inspired by cogentranting's post about Killian and phantom pains.

* * *

 _It burned_.

He kept his arm tightly wrapped beneath the brace, the pain manageable as long as he kept busy, stayed focused. The dangers in Neverland required constant vigilance, and he was all too happy to throw himself into the work. The ache accompanied him on their ventures onto the forbidden island, reminding him of his purpose there with each throb.

Find the Crocodile. Avenge Milah.

Nothing else mattered.

 _It burned._

Years went by, the miserable jungle island just as dangerous as when they'd first arrived, but the pain still remained. Not all the time, not every day. But when it crashed over him, he could do nothing to stop it, no remedy was enough to quell the ache in the hand that wasn't there. He tried to drown it away in a sea of rum, but the headache he had in the morning almost wasn't worth it.

Almost.

 _It burned_.

A century. One hundred years he'd been searching, the fact only noticed by a crew member who'd been keeping track. They spent their days in pursuit of supplies for the demon child while he searched for more information on the Crocodile's weakness. A century of not giving up, a century of holding onto his hate and thirst for vengeance. He often wondered why he bothered anymore when he could barely remember her smile, her voice when she'd said his name, her touch, her love.

But on the long nights when his arm hurt with the memory of all he'd lost, a cloth soaked in hot water wrapped where his hand should be, he remembered.

He remembered everything.

 _It burned_.

So much of his body hurt, the vehicle that crashed into him more powerful than he'd anticipated. Broken ribs, twisted leg, bruises from the Crocodile's cane across his back. But the throb just past the end of his wrist sang that night, the night he nearly got his revenge.

He almost forgot, with the medicines they gave him in the hospital numbing every ache. Almost, until he pulled the tube out of his arm, the pain a welcome victory march.

And when he plunged his poison-coated hook into her murderer's chest, he swore he heard her voice again.

 _It burned_.

Left behind, defeated, his revenge undone, he wanted to rage against everything keeping him from his vengeance. His arm hurt constantly, as if the hand that wasn't there was clenched in tight-fisted fury. He used it to drive him forward, to find a way to kill the man who seemed truly immortal. And, when that didn't work, he ran, hoping she would understand as he steered his ship out to sea.

But the ache didn't stop, her son lost, her grandson in danger. She wanted him to go back, he knew. She needed him to go back.

He went back.

 _It burned_.

The jungle was just as thick and foreboding as he knew it would be, the air heavy with memories best left behind. He tried to drink away the pain in his hand, the sharp sting of it almost blinding, distracting as they trekked through the familiar yet hostile landscape. At night he took off the brace he wore, rubbed at the scarred stump beneath it when no one was watching.

Save the boy, the pain seemed to say, throbbing in time with his heart. One more quest before he could refocus on his task.

But when she kissed him, the pain went silent.

 _It burned_.

He went back with all the others to a land that wasn't his home, empty and more alone than he'd ever been before. The rum didn't work anymore, no amount of it would soothe the agony in his hand that matched that in his heart. The Crocodile was dead, so why did his arm continue to remind him of his failure to protect her? He lost Milah, he lost Emma, he lost everything.

He welcomed the pain, he deserved it.

 _It burned_.

He got another chance with Emma, a chance to be who she needed, someone she could trust. He traded in his secrets for his hand restored, and the pain finally, finally, quieted. But secrets don't make good currency, and the cost was higher than he could bear. He tried to work up the courage to remove it himself, to slice off the reminder of his darkness. Cursing his weakness, he begged its removal from the one who took it in the first place, dreading the ache that he knew would be back.

His hatred for the Crocodile shone brighter with each stab and twist in the space where his hand had been, his anger the only thing that would help him survive.

But saying goodbye to Emma hurt worse than any pain in his hand.

 _It burned_.

The darkness swirled around her, the cursed blade held tightly in her fist, and his hand exploded in agony as he stood before her. He couldn't do anything but watch, watch as he failed yet another who he loved, who made the mistake of loving him in return. Her final words echoed in his mind, words he wanted to hear for so long, but not like that, never as a farewell.

Milah said those words to him, just before he lost his world, his future, and his hand. It was only fitting that Emma's same words would trigger just as much pain.

He ignored the unrelenting stabbing in his invisible fist, and vowed to bring her back.

 _It burned_.

He didn't know how much the dead could feel, he certainly didn't think it would be like that. Tortures suffered by cruel hands left him gasping for breath, his clothes bloody, his resolve crumbling the longer he stayed. Emma's vision brought him hope, and he clung to it with everything. When he heard she had been there, her, _Milah_ , he nearly broke, and the throbbing in his arm returned with the reminder of the woman he'd failed to avenge. It hurt even more when he learned he couldn't leave, reaching blinding levels as he kissed Emma's hand for the last time, as if to protest their separation as vehemently as his heart.

There was no pain as he walked toward the light, only relief as she crashed into him over his grave, neither one wanting to let go for a moment.

 _It burns_.

Every now and then, the ache, the throb, the pain of the past comes rushing back when he least expects it. She's there, always, massaging his arm with fingers that seem to anticipate just what he needs. She knows his past, and her love helps soften the edges of the harsh memories that threaten to overwhelm him at times. Milah will always be with him, the pain of her loss a part of his heart, but if not for her he would never have found his path toward Emma.

It's an ache he's more than willing to bear, when it means he's found his future.


End file.
